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  “Hey, come on in and make yourself at home, CPT Allan.”

  “Thanks sir, I appreciate your time.”

  “So, what's on your mind? The 108th is treating you well from what I hear.”

  “Yes sir, everything is going well, thank you.”

  “Good to hear. So, what's up?”

  Well sir, although my focus has been on ramping up the security program with the 108th, I still conduct research in the other areas.”

  “Good.”

  “I have several analysts working for me that I have assigned to different departments. One of them doing research on HUMINT on his spare time and he brought something to my attention that caused me to do further research.”

  “Oh? What is that?”

  “Well sir, it's about paramilitary militia groups in the United States, such as the 'Posse Comitatus.”

  “The who?”

  “Possee Comtatus, sir.”

  “I don't believe that I ever heard of them. Wait, aren't they the ones who believe that the federal government is a threat to their freedom?”

  “Yes sir, especially President Clinton's passage of the North American Free Trade Agreement. They believe that there exists a left-wing, globalist conspiracy that they call the New World Order.”

  “Right. Okay?”

  “There were some members on the news not too long ago blaming the government for the FBI's 1992 shootout with Randy Weaver at Ruby Ridge.”

  “I remember.”

  “They also blame the government for the 1993 siege of David Koresh and the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas.

  “What are you getting at, David? Did you find something that should concern us?”

  “Well sir, not us here directly, but I believe that a couple of rogue members will plot a terrorist attack on US soil very soon.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Do you have some specific indicators?”

  David did not say what he was thinking, yes sir, a 100% indicator. It happened when I lived in 1995 eight years ago.

  “Nothing specific, sir, just plotting some existing Intel traffic together into a matrix. Probably the most disconcerting information that I've come across indicates that a few Desert Storm veterans have been on record with anti-government talk and…”

  David was cut off by Richardson's phone ringing. He saw that the Colonel looked at the blinking light and reached for the receiver. “Excuse me, David, but I need to take this.”

  Sensing that LTC Richardson was only slightly interested in his findings, David got up to leave. LTC Richardson nodded his approval and then David heard him speak into the mouthpiece. “Just a minute. David, keep up your search and let me know if you come across anything concrete that we might be able to present.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  David left the building wondering what his next step would be. Should I make an anonymous call to the FBI? He went back to his office to continue his research; trying to find something that would tie Timothy McVeigh, Terry Nichols, and Michael Fortier, to their basic training connection at Fort Benning, Georgia in 1988. None of his specialists were really looking into the matter at all, so he was on his own. In addition, whatever he did, he could not reveal anything that would implicate his foreknowledge.

  Time was running out but he found something that he could confront with LTC Richardson. At the risk of becoming an annoying nuisance to the officer who helped him remain stateside, he called his office. After several, “He'll get back with you,” from CPT Marshall, LTC Richardson finally returned his call.

  “What did you find, David?”

  “Sir, do you remember a couple of years ago, in '93, when the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City was targeted by the white supremacist group called, 'The Covenant, The Sword, and the Arm of the Lord?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “They plotted to park a vehicle in front of the Federal Building and blow it up with rockets detonated by a timer.”

  “Okay. You could be onto something there. Go on.”

  “Well sir, a militia group could be planning another attack similar to that one during the Waco anniversary coming up on the 19th of April.”

  “Hmmm, interesting thought. I will need some more information. I'll tell you what I can do. Put together an INTSUM about your findings on American militia groups and I will look at it when you are finished. No guarantees, but if it sounds convincing enough, I might be able to get a couple of the right guys in DC to look further into it.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate this.”

  “David, if you're right about a terrorist bomb here set off by our own, God help us.”

  10. Oklahoma City

  April 19, 1995

  April 19th was less than a week away. Anytime David questioned LTC Richardson about the INTSUM report that he had submitted, LTC Richardson's answer was the same. “I haven't had time to look at it more discreetly. The first time I read the report, I determined it was not detailed enough.”

  With time running out, LTC Richardson finally read it but the information did not seem conclusive enough for him to send to a higher level. “This is a good report David, but it lacks any kind of evidence. It's mostly speculatively stated.”

  He had an idea this would be the reaction. How else could he reveal information without coming out and say, Listen, I am from the future!

  David thought of one more idea but there was only three days before the catastrophic event would take place. Why did I not think of this before?

  It took him a while to find the phone number after an extensive search, but once he did, David drove down to Lake Charles, pulled into a gas station and dialed the number.

  “Hello, this is William Fielder.”

  “Bill, this is David Allan. Do you remember me?”

  “David, of course. How could I ever forget you?”

  “I was hoping you would say something like that”—in more ways than one, David thought.”

  “It's been a long time. How is the army treating you these days?”

  “It's going well so far. I'm still working intelligence.”

  “Good for you. So, what's up? Must be important for you to contact me after all these years.”

  “It is. I was doing some research with my current unit and I came across something that may be in your domain.” David went on to explain everything that he had already spoken with LTC Richardson concerning the domestic terror network. Since he hadn't taken it seriously enough, he thought the FBI would like to know about his findings.

  “Thanks for letting me know. Actually, this sort of thing is being tracked and we have a pretty good surveillance net over such groups.”

  David refrained from saying, maybe so, but you do not have a clue what Timothy McVeigh is about to do in Oklahoma City. The fact was, he could not find any information about them anywhere.

  He wanted to close with, Okay Bill, just be sure that all of your federal offices take extra precautions on April 19 or, do not forget, the Branch Davidians Waco disaster has an anniversary coming up on the 19th, but he did not.

  Instead, he simply closed with, “Well, I just wanted to let you know what I stumbled across here but it sounds like you have it all covered.”

  “Thanks for calling David. Always good to hear from you.”

  * * *

  David awoke on the morning of the 19th feeling uneasy. “I don't feel so well, Sherry. Maybe I'll go in to sick call and get some free meds.”

  “You don't look well, either. Why don't you just stay in bed; I'll call your office and…”

  “You know it doesn't work that way, dear. I'll be alright.”

  Sherry looked at him, fully realizing that arguing with him would be a waste of time. “Okay.”

  David drove by the office and told his senior enlisted officer, Sergeant Major Cox, that he had to take care of some business and that he should be back by noon.

  “Got you covered, sir.”

  The drive to Lake Charles took about 90
minutes. David went to the south side of town to locate a remote gas station, one with a phone booth. He finally found one that suited his purpose. Walking into the booth after making sure there were no people in sight, he slipped on a pair of surgeon's gloves and dialed a number that he pulled from his pocket.

  There was no answer on the other end. “Jesus!”

  David tried again and kept letting the phone ring. Still no answer. He hung up, looked around, noted a car pulling into the station and quickly got back into his car. The man in his late thirties, dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans glanced quickly in his direction but did not seem to notice.

  David waited. Finally, the customer ran out, jumped into his car and peeled away with his tires screeching against the pavement. David's heart sank. Did that guy just rob the place? That would be all I need. Nothing happened. No storeowner running out yelling, “I've just been robbed!” Nobody staggering out with their hand clutched to their chest; nothing. David breathed a sigh of relief.

  Returning to the booth, he dialed the number on the torn piece of paper again. This time, somebody answered on the other end.

  “Front desk, Murrah Federal Building. Can I help you?”

  David had to play this with wisdom and tact. “Yes, I was wondering, do you happen to notice if there is a yellow Ryder truck parked out front of your building on the eastern end?”

  “I can't see from here, why? Who is this?”

  “Could you check it out please?”

  “Listen, I don't have time. Why don't you…” Just then, David heard someone pull into the parking lot and did not hear the voice on the other end. He also did not hear that there was a clicking sound followed by a dial tone. Two men got out of a pick-up truck and went inside.

  “Dear God!” David fished for more coins to drop into the slot. Then he dialed the number again. The phone rang. In fact, it rang several times. Nobody picked it up on the other end.

  He left it ringing. I knew I should have called much sooner!

  The two men emerged from the storefront with a couple of sodas and a pack of cigarettes. Both stopped long enough to check out the uniformed figure inside the phone booth. David watched them until they got into the truck and drove off.

  “Hello! Hello!”

  David quickly held the phone back to his ear. “Yes, sorry. I…”

  “You again! Who is this?”

  “It doesn't matter. Listen. I do not have time. Do not hang up, please! Is there a Ryder truck…?”

  “YOU LISTEN, Mister! I do not know who you think you are but I am gonna track you down and lock your ass up…!

  “EVACUATE! NOW!” David finally blurted.

  “THAT's IT! I'm running a tracer on you right now buster!”

  David hung up quickly. There he stood, gloved hand still on the phone. Sweat dripping down his face. His heart pounding. “Oh God, why?' he cried. He got back into his car and sat there with his head down on the steering wheel. A wrap on his window caused him to jump.

  “You alright, sir?” The heavy accented Cajun voice came from a man who looked to be in his late forties. This oval faced person with thinning hair wore glasses and he seemed genuinely concerned.

  “I'm fine, thanks.” David reached for his keys in the ignition.

  “You don't look so good!”

  “What? I'm fine!”

  The man slowly walked away. “Drive careful now.”

  “Okay, thanks.

  David said a quick prayer and called Bill Fielder's number, praying and sweating the whole time that he would answer.

  “Fielder!”

  “Thank God!”

  “Hello?”

  “Bill, it's me, David Allan.”

  “Hi David, whatever I can do for you, make it quick. I am running late for a meeting. You were lucky to catch me because I just returned back to the office to retrieve a folder when the phone rang.”

  “Bill, I don't know how to say this, but do you remember that conversation we had a week ago about the home-grown militia groups?”

  “Yes, in fact that is what our meeting is going to cover.”

  “Listen to me carefully, please. There is little time and I cannot explain where I got this information but please, I beg you, call your contacts at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City now! Ask them to look for a yellow Ryder truck parked outside the building, and hurry! There isn't much time!”

  Bill listened silently, stunned by what he was hearing. “David, I will make the call. Stay on this line.”

  “Okay, please hurry.”

  The phone rang on the desk of Brad Grant. “Hello, this is Grant.”

  “Grant! Fielder here from the Tampa office.”

  “Oh, hey, how…” Brad was cut off.

  “No time. Listen, can you get some folks to look outside your building for a yellow Ryder truck?”

  “Sure Bill, what's this…?”

  “No time, now!”

  “Give me a minute.”

  David waited what seemed like an eternity. “Come on—come on!”

  “Bill, there is one parked out front. I have a guy going down there now to have the driver move it.”

  “No! Evacuate the building immediately!”

  Brad was speechless. “Bill?”

  “Immediately! And keep me posted!”

  Brad decided to set the fire alarm off and began the emergency evacuation procedures for his staff in the building. Fortunately, the alarm system registered throughout the building. Most of the building's occupants thought that it was simply a drill and ignored the alarm. Brad had his team move quickly throughout the building to direct people out the backside away from the truck.

  Day care workers were busily herding children towards the front of the building when one of Brad's men stopped them and directed them to the back. When they filed outside, others piling out the back entrance as well joined them.

  Brad was on a Walkie-talkie when a blast suddenly ripped through atmosphere sending shock waves reverberating through the building. He, along with everyone else were thrown to the ground. Glass shattered and rained down all around the building.

  “MY, GOD!”

  “Brad! Brad!” Bill yelled into the phone.

  “Bill—I'm okay. We just…”

  “What happened?”

  Brad stood up shakily, holding his head. Everyone around him in the grassy area behind the building seemed to be fine except for the shock. Kids were screaming and crying while adults tried to calm them. “That truck? It blew!”

  Bill went silent on the other end.

  “Listen Bill, I gotta run!”

  Brad went immediately into operation mode and began setting up security perimeters, account for his people, and call in reinforcements.

  The Emergency Medical Services were already headed to the scene, having heard the blast. The people nearby taking care of their own business also witnessed or heard the blast and began arriving to assist the victims and emergency workers. The EMS command post was set up almost immediately following the attack and oversaw triage, treatment, transportation, and decontamination. Within 23 minutes of the bombing, the State Emergency Operations Center (SEOC) was set up, consisting of representatives from the state departments of public safety, human services, military, health, and education.

  “David. Did you hear what happened?” Bill asked.

  “Tell me you got everybody out of the building, Bill.”

  “Most everybody. Reports are still coming in but looks like there were 70 casualties overall, about 12 of them dead.”

  “The children?”

  Bill thought for a moment. “How did you know there were children there? But, no. No reports of any children casualties.”

  “Thank God!”

  “David. I think you and I need to talk.”

  “I know. I'll try to explain everything.”

  “Alright, I'll be in touch.”

  “I'm looking forward to seeing you soon, Bill.”

  �
�Me too. You better believe it!”

  David headed back north to Fort Polk, leaving the radio off. He felt relief about the children, remembering the image of the fireman holding a little girl. He tried to remember the number of lives lost before he went back in time, when he lived this life previously. The numbers were coming to his mind slowly. Wasn't it around 168 lives lost, 19 of them children, and more than 600 injured?

  Within 90 minutes of the explosion, Timothy McVeigh was stopped as he was traveling north on Interstate 35 near Perry, Oklahoma by an Oklahoma State Trooper. McVeigh was charged with driving without a license plate and arrested for unlawfully carrying a weapon. Forensic evidence quickly linked McVeigh and Terry Nichols to the attack; Nichols was arrested, and within days, both were charged.

  Maybe if David had remembered the details prior to the bombing, he could have stopped it altogether. If only he could have remembered where McVeigh and Nichols held their bags of high-grade ammonium nitrate fertilizer, 55-gallon drums of liquid nitro methane, and several crates of explosive Tovex, the whole thing could have been prevented.

  However, David did not remember those facts. He could only recall the date of the explosion because of the anniversary of the Waco attack and that was due largely in part to the media coverage of the event.

  * * *

  The phone on David's desk rang for the third time before he decided to pick it up. He was still feeling a bit dazed by the Oklahoma City bombing that took place the week before , wondering what, if anything, he could have done differently to prevent the re-occurrence.

  “Hello, Brigade S-2, this is Captain Allan, can I help you?

  “Hello, David. This is Bill, from Tampa.”

  “Bill, hello. How are you?”

  “Okay, considering. Can we talk in private?”

  “Ah, sure. Are you here in Louisiana?”

  “Yes, I am. How about we meet at the Catfish junction for lunch today, say around noon? Are you free?”

  “Yes. I'll be there.”

  “Good, thanks. Looking forward to seeing you again.”